


collision course

by jemmasimmmons



Series: dancing in our world alone (let them talk) [6]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, back to fluff next time!!, minor description of blood/injury, probably the angsty-est this series is going to get as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4292265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmasimmmons/pseuds/jemmasimmmons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just recently, the worry she had felt towards him had been bigger than the worry you might feel for your best friend. Jemma knew that, deep down. This kind of worry was wider, all consuming. It rooted itself deep in her gut and made her feel things she had never felt before. It made her feel sick. It made her feel dizzy.</p>
<p>It made her feel like she would have rather have had another three bullets fired into her chest than see the same gun be pointed at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	collision course

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I wrote a piece for this series and coming back to it was both very easy and very hard, so apologies if this is a bit clunky! I'm still getting back into the rhythm of writing like this. 
> 
> Also, this is pretty long for this series and usually I would split it into two parts but there wasn't a suitable place to split it so I'm afraid you get the whole thing in one. At this point, I would probably say that it's necessary to have read the other parts of this series before you read this.
> 
> A lot of this was heavily inspired by 2b and Jemma's missing perspective there, which I felt very strongly about the show skipping over to such an extent, so watch out for that. Here's hoping you like this!

 

**2:46pm**

 

'What's the time?'

Jemma glanced down at her watch and flicked her wrist out towards him so he could see as well.

'Forty six minutes past two.'

Fitz squinted forwards at the shiny, golden face of her watch, then looked down at his own watch, before giving a disgruntled tutting noise and returning to stare at the wall in front of him.

The two of them were sitting on the floor of their lab, backs pressed into the side of one of the pristine, white benches. Fitz had crossed his legs under him and his arms across his chest to match, while Jemma had pulled her knees up under her chin and had her hands clasped around them.

'How about now?'

'Fitz, for goodness sake, it's still forty six minutes past two!'

'Oh.'

There was a pause, during which she could hear him counting the seconds in his head.

'And now?'

Jemma sighed, tilting her head back to rest it on the cool metal of the bench and closed her eyes.

'Now it is forty _seven_ minutes past two.'

 

 

**9:02am**

 

Technically, they were late to work, however hard Fitz was trying to deny it.

'We are not late,' he insisted, as Jemma scurried up the steps to their building ahead of him, her heart thudding in her mouth. 'Jemma, honestly...'

'We are,' she retorted over her shoulder. The anxiety that had been stoically ingrained in her, after nineteen years of living with her neurotic mother, was making Jemma's palms itch as she fumbled in her bag for her S.H.I.E.L.D badge. 'Nine o'clock, that's when we're supposed to start, and it is now...'

'Two minutes past nine,' Fitz finished dryly and fished his badge out of his pocket to hand over to her. 'Oh yes, we're very late, practically wasn't even worth turning up today. They'll probably shoot us for it.'

Jemma paused while tapping in their security codes to glare at him.

'I'd really rather you didn't make jokes about shooting,' she muttered, and watched the sarcasm on Fitz's face die away almost instantly.

It had been three weeks since their field assessment. Three weeks since their assessment team had managed to fail in the most spectacular, outlandish style in S.H.I.E.L.D field assessment history. Three weeks since an agent dressed as the enemy had shot three paint bullets into the centre of her chest.

When she closed her eyes, Jemma could still sometimes hear the shots, but when she saw the face of the agent in her mind it was not her chest that he was shooting at.

She shuddered, involuntarily.

'Hey.' Fitz's voice was concerned, drawing her back to the present. 'Jemma, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that...'

Jemma shook her head, suddenly embarrassed about being still so sensitive about what had happened. The assessment clearly hadn't bothered Fitz. In fact, it bothered him so little that he had taken to making jokes about it in front of her. So why was it that _she_ was still having nightmares about it?

'I know what you meant.' She handed his badge back to him with a weak smile. 'Let's just get to work, shall we?'

He nodded, and opened the door for her in apology.

They passed through reception together, Fitz matching his strides to hers and but there was a gap between them where their shoulders were normally brushing.

'Morning, Ruth,' Fitz greeted the girl behind the front desk almost cheerfully.

Ruth glanced up at them as they approached and beamed in response. 'Good morning, you two!'

The receptionist's warm smile only widened as she passed their lanyards over the counter. Jemma murmured a similar greeting to her and tried to return the smile as she slipped her lanyard around her neck gratefully.

Ever since Ruth's not-quite-a-date with Fitz back on Valentine's Day, Jemma had found herself unable to be quite able to look the other girl in the eye, the memory of her nauseating jealousy towards her making her heart twinge with guilt. Nothing had happened between Ruth and Fitz since then (and even the singular evening they had spent together hadn't lasted long enough to really be considered a _date_ ), but thinking about it still made Jemma feel uncomfortable and deeply ashamed of how she had felt that night.

It had now been three months since then. And she had still not plucked up the courage to properly address how she had felt with Fitz.

_Coward_ , a small voice at the forefront of her mind crowed in delight.

Jemma hastily hushed the voice, mentally forcing the hateful word down to the back of her mind.

She gave Ruth a small wave before she and Fitz turned away from the reception desk and hurried towards the lift that took them up to their lab.

'Oh, Simmons!'

Jemma turned back in surprise as at the urgent tone of the receptionist's voice, just as she and Fitz got into the lift.

'There's a delivery for you,' Ruth called across the lobby, 'in the loading bay.' There was an excited lilt to her voice as she spoke the next words, a lilt that travelled across the room to Jemma and made her ears prick up with a start. 'It's from _the Triskellion_.'

Jemma did not need to look at Fitz to know that his eyebrows had probably shot up into his hairline at hearing that. In fact, it was quite likely that hers had done the same thing.

'Oh!' Through her shock, Jemma managed to smile at the other girl and nod. 'Thank you, Ruth. I'll nip down and collect it once I've dropped my things off in the lab.'

The other girl gave her an appreciative thumbs up before the lift doors slid shut cutting her off from them and Fitz pressed the button for their floor.

'The Triskellion, huh?' he repeated, and Jemma couldn't help a small twinge of smugness at the obvious awe with which he said it. 'Wonder what that is?'

'No clue.' Now that her initial shock had passed, Jemma was filled with potential possibilities for what her delivery could be and each one was more thrilling than the next. She flashed him a smile. 'Suppose I'll find out in a bit though, won't I?'

Fitz returned the grin, and suddenly Jemma's body was filled with a thrill of an entirely different kind.

'I suppose you will.'

 

 

**3:13pm**

 

The metal case was taunting them, from where it had been abandoned on their hollotable with its lid open. From her sitting position on the floor, Jemma had a wonderful view of it. 

There had even been times throughout the morning when she could have sworn it was laughing at her.

_ Typical. _

As if she needed an inanimate object to be mocking her on today of all days.

Sighing, she stretched her legs out and arched her back, trying to relieve some of the tension that had built up in it over the past five hours.

'You alright?'

Jemma jumped. Fitz had fallen so quiet by her elbow that she had assumed he had gone to sleep. But no; now, he lifted his head from where it had stooped onto his chest and gave her a frown.

'Yeah.' She tried for a smile but it turned into more of a wince. 'Just stiff, I think.'

He nodded, wincing back in sympathy. 'Yeah, me too.'

Fitz brought a hand around to his back to rub at his spine. When part of his shirt rode upwards, Jemma had to jerk her head away quickly, alarmed at how quick her cheeks were flushing pink at the sight of his exposed flesh.

The rising temperature in the lab was certainly not helping her situation either.

' _ And _ I'm hungry.'

Jemma rolled her eyes. 'Fitz, you're always hungry.'

'No, I'm not! Not always...and, anyway, we missed lunch. Surely there's been some study that shows how bad that is for you.'

'Well actually, there have been several. Mostly, because it leads to glycogen levels dropping substantially, so that the body has to transfer to less efficient fuelling methods which can lead to diabetes in the long run. But it has also been shown that skipping meals can lead to physical instability and hasty decision making, among other things, which...'

Jemma trailed off as she realised that she had inadvertently proven Fitz's point and he was looking at her with a single raised eyebrow.

She sighed.

'I'll make up an extra portion of carbonara for you tonight.'

Fitz fell quiet and shifted his position uncomfortably on the floor. 'You know, you don't always have to cook for us,' he muttered

Jemma snorted; she couldn't help it. 'What, and you'd do it instead, would you?'

'Yes!' The tips of Fitz's ears had turned pink. 'You don't think I could?'

'Well, as I recall, the last time you attempted anything culinary was the Turkey Incident and we both remember how  _ that _ turned out.'

'Hey, don't pin that one on me!' he protested immediately, just as she'd known he would. 'That was just as much your fault as mine.'

'It was  _ your _ idea-'

'-Which  _ you _ helped me with-'

'-Only because I knew if I didn't you'd only hurt yourself!'

'You really don't think I'm capable of anything, do you?' he bit back at her, folding his arms over his chest with a scowl.

Jemma slumped back against the bench, suddenly realising how quickly the discussion had escalated and feeling the sudden irritation that had sprung up in her chest deflate almost as quickly as she had known it was there. This was usually the way with their arguments: a quick flare, a spark of frustration, an uneven moment of imbalance that knocked them off course.

But then the momentum was gone.

'You could try tonight, if you like,' she breached tentatively, after a few moments uneasy silence. 'Cook dinner. Prove me wrong.'

Beside her, Fitz's body relaxed, the tension from their argument evaporating as easily as raindrops on a hot pavement. He twisted his head up to look at her.

'I suppose I could...' he said hesitantly. 'But...if you were going to make carbonara...'

Jemma scoffed. 'You are  _ so _ predictable.'

'I'll cook tomorrow?'

'Tomorrow.' She leant over and poked him in the side. 'I'm holding you to that, you know.'

'Wouldn't expect anything less.'

They lapsed into silence again, and Fitz turned his head back to face the wall. Leaning her cheek against the bench, Jemma watched him.

The blinds in the lab were locked down and neither of them had turned the light on so there was an eerie orange haze in the room, like they were flies caught in amber. It was a lighting that Jemma noticed was not exactly unflattering on her partner.

In the weeks since Valentine's, she had found herself watching him more often, and in increasingly stranger, contradicting situations. For instance, the fleeting moments when he flexed out his chest when shrugging off his lab coat, or in the morning when his eyes were bleary and sleep-crusted, or late at night after a beer when his whole body seemed to hum with a warm golden glow just for her.

Or right now, as the light from the red warning pulses on the wall highlighted the shape of his jaw just inches from her head, and the curves of his eyelashes drooped just low enough to brush the tops of his cheeks.

It was looking at him like this that made Jemma feel flutters in her stomach and butterflies in her chest when she really shouldn't.

Because it was blatantly obvious that Fitz did not feel the same way.

Jemma swallowed back the lump in her throat, and rolled her head backwards with a sigh.

 

 

**9:38am**

 

Patience was a part of Jemma Simmons' nature.

Ever since she had been little she had been exceptionally good at waiting for good things, whether that was the hour of television she was allowed once her homework was done, the last (and favourite) chocolate in a Milk Tray or a hot shower after finally finishing a late lab analysis.

But as it turned out, something that she was not very good at waiting for was being able to find out what was in her delivery from the Triskellion.

She and Fitz hadn't even finished blocking out their joint schedules for the day before Jemma realised the itch to unwrap her package was growing too big to ignore and she pushed her stool back from the hollotable.

'Back in a bit,' she called to Fitz, holding her badge up to the door so it slid across to let her out into the corridor.

Fitz barely raised his head from the bench, choosing to grunt in her vague direction instead, in acknowledgement of her departure. Had she not been so excited, Jemma might have felt a little offended.

It took everything in her not to skip through Sci-Ops like a little girl to reach the loading bay. Once there, she signed her name on the delivery form, taking care not to shake the pen too much, and received a large cardboard box with the S.H.I.E.L.D logo plastered to the sides in return.

'Do you need any help carrying it up?' one of the technicians asked her, glancing down at her slight frame and then the box with thinly veiled concern.

Jemma lifted the box up, weighing it in her arms. It was large and unwieldy, but not too heavy for her to not be able to carry back to the lab.

She shook her head and gave the technician a winning smile. 'Oh no, I've got it, thank you.'

He nodded his head at her as she shifted the box's weight to stride confidently out of the bay.

Fitz looked up from the hollotable when she tapped urgently at the glass door of of the lab with her foot when she was back up on their floor. Once she had his attention, Jemma nodded towards the security panel and Fitz leant across the bench to buzz her in.

'That's it, then?' he asked, as Jemma heaved the box ontop of the hollotable with a grunt.

'Mmhm.'

With her nail, she began to tease the tape keeping the flaps ontop of the box down so she could prise it open and peek inside. Though his hands had retuned to work, she could feel Fitz's eyes straying up to watch her, which only made her heart race faster.

Inside the cardboard box was another box, this time a fastened container made of metal, and there was a sealed envelope addressed to her resting ontop with the Triskellion seal printed on.

Jemma lifted the letter out curiously, turning it over in her hand. On the back of the envelope, the words 'OPEN BEFORE INITIAL ASSESSMENT' were printed and so she obediently ran her finger under the seal to open it.

As she pulled the crisp, white paper out of the envelope, Jemma was distantly aware of Fitz asking her something, but she was far too absorbed to ask him to repeat it. Instead, she repeated her murmur of assent from earlier and began to wander away from the hollotable to read.

Jemma scanned her eyes over the letter she now held in her hand, tossing the empty envelope onto one of their work benches as she passed. It was from the director of the S.H.I.E.L.D science division at the Triskellion, telling her that his department was rather overrun recently and that he was sending this assignment to her in the hope that she would be able to deal with it more efficiently than any of his scientists would.

But Jemma did not read on to find out what the assignment actually was.

How could she, when the words ' _biohazard_ ', ' _contamination_ ' and ' _open in vacuum room, avoiding aero contact_ ' were all she could see leaping off the page at her?

Behind her, Jemma heard a rustling of cellophane chips, followed by the click of a metal case opening, and suddenly it felt like all of the blood in her body had been drained out through her feet.

' _Fitz!_ ' she shrieked, as she whirled her head back around to him in horror. ' _No!_ '

 

 

**4:17pm**

 

'How much longer?'

For what felt like the millionth time in the past six hours, Jemma pulled her watch up to her face.

'Quarantine ended an hour ago,' she sighed. 'But unfortunately, lockdown lasts for eight hours. It's S.H.I.E.L.D protocol.'

Fitz groaned.

'But there wasn't even a bloody biohazard!'

After he had opened the case containing the specimens she had been sent from the Triskellion, Jemma had frantically alerted their superiors who had initiated the S.H.I.E.L.D emergency procedures, putting their lab on lockdown, evacuating the building and placing the two of them under quarantine. It had then taken one, anxiety-stricken hour for Jemma to analyse her samples (with Fitz hovering apprehensively on the opposite side of the lab) before she had been able to declare them free of any kind of biohazard, much to their own, and their supervising agents', infinite relief.

After a quick blood sample from both of them had come back clean, Jemma had found herself able to finally breathe again and had thanked their lucky stars that the whole ordeal, which could have been so much worse, was over.

Or so she had thought.

Because they still had until 6pm before they could leave the lab.

'I know,' she replied patiently, patting Fitz reassuringly on the knee, before feeling the warmth from his leg on her fingertips and hastily withdrawing her hand. 'But they can't undo the lockdown now, it's automatic and the system can't be overridden.'

If it had not been for the lockdown, Jemma thought, being stuck in the lab for an extra hour after their shift was done would not have been so bad. She and Fitz had done it before. In fact, there had been times when they had stayed working so late that the security workers had given up on trying to make them go home and had started asking them to lock up after themselves instead.

(This had been mildly troubling to Jemma, but no S.H.I.E.L.D secrets had been leaked as a result of it so far, so she tried not to think about it too hard instead).

But seeing their beautiful lab be shut off, with them inside of it, was becoming increasingly difficult.

The window blinds that were blocking out the sun seemed cold and unfriendly, but at the same time they were locking heat into the room so much so that both she and Fitz had been forced to remove their jumpers and undo their collars so they didn't overheat. What was worse than the heat, however, was the steel trappings that had come down from the ceiling to cover the glass door, preventing them from being able to leave, that was starting to feel less like it was there for protection and more like a casket with every passing second.

It was making Jemma feel light-headed.

'I bet I could override the system,' Fitz muttered bitterly under his breath.

Jemma wasn't entirely sure whether that was true, but she was too tired and hot to argue with him, so just nodded sympathetically.

'Also, this is all your fault. Just so you know.'

Her head whipped around so fast she heard her stiff neck crack with the swiftness of the movement. Fitz had brought his knees up to his chest and his elbows were resting ontop of them, his fingers clenching and then unclenching, making the tight muscles in his forearms protrude from the skin. It might have caused Jemma to lose her words, had she not been so indignant.

'What?' she spluttered. 'How on _earth_ is this _my_ fault?'

'I asked you if you wanted me to open the bloody thing for you and you said yes!' Fitz reminded her, throwing his arms up into the air in frustration. 'You shouldn't have let me.'

'I hadn't opened the letter yet! I didn't know!'

'But you still shouldn't have let me do it! Isn't there some rule about reading instructions before unloading deliveries?'

'Oh well, if you knew _that_ already then why did you open it?' Jemma retorted sharply, feeling a familiar tug of irritation towards him.

Fitz glared at her, before pushing his back off the workbench and getting to his feet. He stalked away from her to the shelves of supplies they kept at the back of the lab. Jemma watched him go miserably, her anger ebbing away to hurt as quickly as it had flared up.

She knew he wasn't really mad at her. She knew that it was only tiredness and anxiety and hunger that was making him snap.

(Or at least, she hoped that was what it was.)

But Jemma was tired and anxious and hungry too, and it was because of this that she couldn't help the tears that were springing to her eyes at his accusations.

Because that was all they were. Accusations. There wasn't any truth to them.

(Or was there?)

Jemma swallowed back the lump in her throat and quickly wiped her hand over her eyes before he could see her tears. She furrowed her brow, forcing herself to think back to that morning.

Yes, it had been Fitz who had opened the contamination container, but he was right. She _had_ said he could, because she hadn't been listening to what he was saying. She hadn't been paying attention; she had been too focused on reading her letter to listen to what her best friend had been asking her.

Despite the sweltering heat of the lab, Jemma felt a deathly chill settle over her and her bones turn to ice as she realised that Fitz had been right.

This was _her_ fault. _Her_ mistake.

And it could have killed both of them.

The thought of that was enough to turn the taste in Jemma's mouth sour.

They had been incredibly lucky today, she knew that; she knew that they had been lucky the specimens sent to her hadn't been dangerous and that there was no possibility of either of them having been harmed by it.

But, she realised now, it could have been so different. The specimens _could_ have had any level of bio-contamination on them; there were infinite possibilities of dangerous bacterium – possibly even _alien_ bacteria,knowing S.H.I.E.L.D's recent pursuits – that could have been inside that container, and by not listening to Fitz she could have gotten them released into the lab.

Released onto _him_ , since he had been the one closest to the container and would have been the first to come into aerial contact with the hazard. In all likelihood, she might have been able to escape contamination given her proximity to the case, but Fitz...he would have come into direct contact almost instantly.

_Oh, God_.

A shiver ran down Jemma's spine, and for one horrible moment she thought she might throw up.

She could have _killed him_.

The thought was so sudden, and so very, very real, that Jemma had to jerk her head up quickly, her heart in her throat, to find him.

Fitz was still standing by the shelves, rummaging behind a cluster of glass beakers for something. The familiar outline of his back in the half-lit room, along with the inaudible mutterings he was making to himself as he searched, did something to lessen the tightness Jemma felt in her chest.

It was fine. Fitz was fine. He was _right there_ ; completely destroying her alphabetised chemical solutions but still. He was fine.There was nothing wrong with him.

And yet, there could have so easily been.

And it would have been _her fault_.

Jemma tilted her head backwards onto the cool wood of the work bench and tried to steady her fractured breathing.

She had always worried about Fitz, right back from their early days together at the Academy. It had been that soon instinctive worry that had prompted her to make him his first Valentine's card, that had made her politely decline any late night company offers to make sure he got back to his dorm safely, that had made his room the first room she visited when their whole biology class (excepting her) caught the flu.

She was very _good_ at worrying about him, actually, now that she came to think about it.

But just recently, the worry she had felt towards him had been bigger than the worry you might feel for your best friend. Jemma knew that, deep down. This kind of worry was wider, all consuming. It rooted itself deep in her gut and made her feel things she had never felt before. It made her feel sick. It made her feel dizzy.

It made her feel like she would have rather have had another three bullets fired into her chest than see the same gun be pointed at him.

There had been moments, like the morning after Valentine's when she had woken with his handmade card under her head, or in the fleeting memories she had from the hospital after her appendicitis (although she had never been sure whether those were real or not), when Jemma had wondered whether he might feel the same way.

There had been hope, the tiniest seed of it, that she had dared to allow herself to feel, dared to allow be watered with the lightest of touches and the simplest of words. She had allowed that hope to grow.

And then when she had asked him about it in the field assessment, Fitz had shut her down and the hope had died away again.

And she still hadn't raised it again with him yet.

_Coward_ , the little voice whispered again.

Jemma clenched her fists.

A particularly loud clinking of glass made her jump, snapping her out of her thoughts. Jemma craned her neck around to the supply shelves.

'Fitz?' she asked cautiously, testing to see whether her voice sounded as shaky as it felt. 'What are you looking for?'

'A clean glass,' he grunted back in a muffled tone. 'So I can have a drink. I'm bloody parched.'

It had been the field assessment, Jemma realised suddenly, as she watched him stretch to his fullest hight to reach the top shelf, that had changed everything.

No matter what she did, she couldn't forget the coppery taste of fear in her mouth as she heard the klaxons and couldn't stop herself imagining Fitz's body hitting the floor the same way her partner's had done. None of it had been real, Jemma knew that _logically_ , but...it had felt so real.

(Her fear more than anything had felt real.)

Instances like the field assessment _could_ be real, though. Today had certainly proved that to her; working within S.H.I.E.L.D was dangerous and the slightest of mistakes could have catastrophic results, like the person you cared most about in the world getting hurt. Because of you.

And one thing that Jemma knew, with the grimmest of certainties, was that if Fitz ever got hurt because of her then she would never be able to forgive herself.

She took a deep breath.

'Fitz?'

'Hmm?'

He still had his back to her, pushing beakers aside on the top shelf. She could tell by the tense tone in his voice that he was probably straining to do it more than he should be.

Jemma wrung her hands together. 'I was just thinking...'

'Well, that's always dangerous,' he muttered back, darkly.

Jemma stopped, a little taken back. _Tired, anxious and hungry. That was all that was making him act like this_. She swallowed, her own throat terribly dry.

'Yes, well, I was just thinking...And, it's just...I think you were right. This is my fau-'

'Aah!'

Fitz's sharp intake of breath and the sound of shattering glass cut through her words like they had been under the glass when it fell; Jemma had scrambled to her feet before she really knew what she was doing.

'What happened? What's wrong?'

Fitz had turned half-towards her, away from the shelves, one of his hands clenched over the palm of the other. His eyes were screwed tightly shut and half a beaker lay, smashed to pieces, by his feet.

In the half light of the lab, Jemma's heart fell into her shoes as she saw a drop of crimson blood roll down his hand to fall to the floor.

She gasped, surging forward with her hands already outstretched for his.

'Let me see.'

Fitz shook his head, his eyes still closed. He brought his hands up to his face and opened one eye. 'Shit.' He closed it again. ' _Shit_.'

Her chest tight, Jemma reached up and grabbed a hold of his injured hand, pulling it down so she could see it. When she did, she couldn't help a small hiss of her own; there was a cut maybe two inches long across the centre of his palm. It didn't look too deep though, _thank God_ , and there wasn't any glass stuck in it, but the smears of blood all over his hand was making Jemma's own blood pulse frantically against her temples.

'How bad is it?' Fitz asked hesitantly.

Jemma shook her head, even though he still had his eyes closed and couldn't see her.

'You won't need stitches,' she said, neatly sidestepping his question. Gently, she pressed her thumbs around the flesh of his palm nearest the wound. 'But I'll need to dress it. In case of infection.'

Fitz licked his bottom lip, then nodded curtly. Since he still had his eyes closed, Jemma gave a tug at the wrist of his other hand to get him to shuffle after her towards one of their work benches.

'Do you want to sit down?' she asked, letting go of only one of his hands so she could duck down to collect some antiseptics and bandages from the cupboard under then bench.

'Nah.' Fitz sniffed and shook his head. 'No, I'm fine.'

His hands were shaking as he said it, though, and under the orange light of the lab Jemma could see that his skin had turned ashen.

With a roll of her eyes that she knew he wouldn't see, she pulled a bench stool over with the tip of her foot and carefully pushed him down into it. Fitz sat down heavily, and gave a deep sigh.

They stayed like that in silence for a few minutes - Fitz breathing through his mouth while Jemma cleaned his cut.

Now that she had his hand resting in her palm and she was in control again, Jemma could feel the churning in her stomach slow and she allowed her shoulders to relax ever so slightly. While she couldn't get them both out of the lab and back into the daylight in one piece, one thing she could do was put a bandage on a cut hand. And she would have to be content with that.

'You were saying something,' Fitz said suddenly, his voice slightly hoarse. He opened his eyes to squint up at her. 'Before...'

'Was I?' Jemma frowned. Anything she had been thinking before suddenly seemed highly trivial compared to what she was doing now. She shook her head and unravelled a white cotton bandage. 'I can't remember.'

'You said you'd been thinking...' Fitz prompted her, nudging her leg with his foot. 'And that I was right...?'

'Oh!' Jemma bit her lower lip, remembering. 'Oh. Yes. I was just going to say that you were right. Us getting locked in here...it really was my fault. And actually,' she added, once the thought occured to her, 'come to think of it, me saying that was probably what distracted you and made you hurt yourself. So...I'm sorry. Twice over, I suppose.' She exhaled, then finished up tying his bandage with a small safety-pin.

Fitz had been watching her, since he had opened his eyes. She had felt his gaze on her rather than seen it; he had a way of looking at her that made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle and her heart quicken, so it felt like a small bird was fluttering its wings against her chest. Now, his eyes widened.

'Jemma, no...' he said, his voice sounding shocked.

She shrugged, letting his hand slide helplessly out of hers. 'Well, it's the truth.'

'No, I didn't...' Fitz sucked in sharply through his teeth and rubbed at the back of his neck with his uninjured hand. 'I didn't mean it like _that_.'

'It certainly sounded like you did,' Jemma muttered, suddenly finding that she was having to blink furiously to keep back the tears.

It was then that she became aware of where she was standing.

As she had been cleaning Fitz's hand, all considerations other than making sure he was taken care of had fallen away, including those it seemed of personal space. She was standing in the gap between his knees, which had fallen open to accommodate her there; the sides of his legs were resting ever so lightly against hers, but not pressing. Jemma could feel his warmth even through both layers of their trousers.

This time, it was her hands that were shaking.

'I know it did,' Fitz groaned, covering his eyes with his hand. 'But it shouldn't have done. So, I'm sorry too. Really.'

His hand slid down from his face and he gave her a look of such warm earnest that Jemma felt her throat run dry and her knees start to cave underneath her. Her lips automatically quirked up into a smile at his inviting expression and she nodded, before quickly changing her mind and shaking her head.

Fitz's face fell. 'What's wrong?'

'You've been acting very strange around me lately.'

Why had she said that? Was _now_ really a good time to talk about this?

But then again, Jemma thought as she shifted her weight on her feet to give her a more stable stance, when _would_ be a good time? Being kept in their lab by lockdown procedures, completely alone and for at least another forty-five minutes seemed as good a time as any.

Fitz had looked away from her; he was now staring intently at his hand, flicking up the edges of the bandage with his fingertips.

'What d'you mean, strange?' he muttered.

'Well, maybe not strange, exactly. But...different.' Jemma felt her voice falter and she mentally kicked herself. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. But Fitz was still looking intently at his hand, and she had started so there was no way to backtrack now. She pressed on.

'You're snapping more...not at me,' she added quickly, then reconsidered. 'Well, actually, _yes_ , at me. And it's about things that you know will bother me too, like this morning and just now. And then you say you didn't mean it, but if you didn't mean it then why did you say it?' Jemma gave a shaky laugh. 'It's all very confusing.'

Fitz had finally looked up at her, and had opened his mouth to reply, but now she had started Jemma didn't seem able to stop, even to let him speak.

'But then you're staring at me too, and I've noticed that you do it a lot. And it's not that I mind that, I really don't, but just recently it's been a different kind of staring.' She paused, quickly glancing up at him. 'Like there's something you need to tell me.'

Fitz stood up abruptly, pushing the bench stool out from under him. 'There's nothing I need to tell you,' he said.

Jemma hit the heel of her hand against the bench in her frustration. 'That's exactly what you said to me in the field assessment! But I don't think that's true.'

'Oh?' Fitz turned, walking away from her and down the bench. There was a slight tremor to his voice. 'Don't you?'

Jemma shook her head vehemently, following him. 'No I don't!'

'And why do you think that?'

'Because I know you!' she cried, stopping when he did, as he bend down to collect a dustpan and brush from another cupboard. 'And I know how you act when there is something bothering you, and this is exactly it! I _know_ you, Fitz, and I just...' She sighed, streaking her fingers through her hair as she searched for the right words to say. 'I just want to help you fix it.'

Fitz stood up sharply, the dustpan in his hands. 'How do you know it's me that's got the problem?' he demanded. 'You know, you've been acting different too, ever since the field assessment. You jump at everything, you're always on edge. It's like you're scared.'

He looked up to meet her eyes, and Jemma felt her heart turn over inside her chest. Clenched against the benchtop, her fingertips tightened.

_Scared_?

Yes, she was scared. _Terrified_ , actually, now that she let herself think about it.

But what she was scared _of_ exactly was another matter entirely.

She had always assumed that her greatest fear was of the people she cared about getting hurt. Her parents initially, then more recently, Fitz. The field assessment and this morning had shown that to her, shown that nothing chilled her to the bone more than the thought of him getting hurt.

But was that what she was most afraid of?

Surely if it had been, she would have voiced her feelings with him ages ago, after the field assessment; after Valentine's Day even.

But she hadn't.

_Coward_ , the small voice sang victoriously again.

What she was most afraid of, Jemma realised, was losing him.

'Jemma?' Fitz put the dustpan down on the bench. 'Is there anything _you_ want to tell _me_?'

_Coward_.

'Yes,' she said, then realised she had more mouthed the word than said it out loud. Jemma raised her chin up and took a deep breath, before trying again. 'Yes. There is something.'

Fitz did a double take, as if he had been expecting her to just brush the question off like he had done. His eyes were wide, and mildly alarmed, but Jemma realised that she had come too far to back out at this stage.

It was now or never.

'You are,' she began, trying hard to keep her voice steady, 'the most important person in the world to me. I don't know whether I've ever told you that, but it's true. You are. And I don't know what I'd do without you.'

The alarm in Fitz's eyes had softened, and the blue of his irises seemed to have turned darker, under the orange light of the lab.

'Yeah,' he said. 'I mean, you've never told me that before, no, but...yeah. Me too, I mean. You're my best friend.'

Jemma nodded, feeling the tears return to her eyes.

'And you're mine,' she whispered. 'You always will be.' She bit her lip, so hard she tasted blood. 'But, Fitz, the thing is... just recently, you've started being something else to me. Something...something _different_.'

Fitz's head shot up towards her, and his eyes widened to the size of saucers.

'You...you mean, you...'

'I understand,' Jemma added, quickly. 'I know that you don't feel the same way, and that's completely fine...'

'You don't know that.'

Jemma broke off mid-sentence, her next breath turning into a gasp instead of the word she had been forming. Fitz was staring at her ( _again_ , with the staring), but there was an intensity to his look that made her dizzy.

Or maybe that was just the rising heat of the lab again.

'Wh-what?'

'You don't know that I don't feel the same way,' Fitz said, a flush of colour returning to his cheeks.

'But-but I asked you,' Jemma stammered, feeling her heart start to beat faster in her chest. 'Back in the field assessment, I _tried_ to ask you about how you felt and you just...'

Fitz groaned.

'I was going to tell you then,' he confessed, his forehead creasing up apologetically. 'I _wanted_ to tell you, I honestly did.'

Jemma shook her head, not quite believing what she was hearing.

'Then why didn't you?' she whispered.

'Because it just didn't feel like the right time!' he cried, flinging his arms out to the sides. 'We were in a field assessment, talking over two knocked-out agents! We were in a mock up super villain's den! There were probably _surveillance cameras_ , for Christ's sake. It wouldn't have been right. And then...afterwards...'

Fitz's voice trailed off as he looked up at her, and when he spoke again there was a softness to his voice that hadn't been there before. 'After you got... _hit_ , and then we were at Mark's, I just lost my nerve. Completely.' He sighed. 'And I've spent the last three weeks trying to build it back up again.'

For what might have been the first time in her life, Jemma Simmons was speechless.

(It was actually a rather unnerving feeling.)

Hesitantly, she took a step forward to him, then rocked back on her foot.

'At least you had the nerve to start with,' she admitted. 'I never...I was...'

'You were what?'

'You were right, before,' Jemma whispered. 'I was scared. I _am_ scared.'

This time, it was Fitz who took a step towards her, his hand sliding across the bench for her own.

'What are you scared of, Jemma?' he asked, in a voice just as quiet as hers had been.

Jemma sighed, and closed her eyes, feeling the smallest tear squeeze out of the corner of her eye and run down her cheek.

She had never been good at expressing her feelings. It was much easier to not talk about how she felt, much more compact to keep them tucked neatly inside herself. That way, no one got hurt but her.

But this was Fitz. This was Fitz, and how she felt about him, and how he was looking at her with wide, concerned eyes and his mouth already parted half-way. She could do anything for him. Including this.

_Now or never_.

'I'm scared of losing you.'

Fitz took another step towards her and this time his fingers closed over hers.

'That will never happen,' he said, fiercely.

Jemma opened her eyes again, looking up at the determination in his face, but still the only things she could see were bullets and blood and bio-hazards.

'You don't know that,' she whispered.

'Yes, I do.'

Fitz took a final step towards her and reached out a hand to touch the part of her forehead where her hair met her temple, letting his fingers trail down through her hair to hold her, very gently, on the back of her head.

'Now, let me show you.'

It took just a single breath for the gap between them to close and, as Fitz's lips pressed down onto hers, Jemma closed her eyes again.

Fitz's lips were warm, and chapped as they rubbed against her skin, and tasted mildly of peppermint.

_His toothpaste_ , Jemma thought absently, but when Fitz's mouth opened into hers, she gasped and all thoughts of dental hygiene fell from her mind entirely.

She was kissing her best friend.

And it was the most beautiful thing she had ever done.

Fitz's hand was still cupped around the back of her neck, pulling her close to him, and on the benchtop his fingers twisted so they were linked with hers, holding her hand. She could feel his pulse beating through her palm as she twisted her head, allowing their lips to fit together.

Jemma's heart quickened as she felt his rapid pulse against her skin, and a thrill ran down the back of her spine, making her surge forward. She brought her free hand up to his shoulder, then along the back of his neck so she was mirroring his pose, drawing herself even closer to him.

Fitz gave a little shudder at that, his tounge running lightly over the inside of her lip as he kissed her again, his breath turning into a groan in her mouth.

The hand that had been under her hair slid downwards, so it was resting in the small of her back. Jemma gasped again as he used that hand to push her forward and upwards, so she was pressed against him on her tiptoes, and she let go of his other hand to loop her arms around his neck.

This allowed their kisses to become harder, and deeper, until the dizzying pleasure Jemma was feeling in every part of her brain was filling the whole of her body.

Still with his arm firmly around her back, Fitz's head pulled back from hers, his eyes shut, to rest his chin on her temple. His face was alight with a pure, seamless joy that Jemma was sure she had never seen on anyone ever before.

She was also sure that the same joy was reflected on her own face.

'Do you want...'

'Yes,' she breathed, without waiting to hear the question she knew he was going to ask, and leant up to kiss him again.

Fitz's mouth responded gratefully to her own, kissing her so deeply she was glad he had an arm around her to stop her from falling. His fingers from his other hand were twining with her hair, running through it as if he wanted to tie himself to her. Jemma wished he would.

She was kissing her best friend.

And she didn't ever want to stop.

All images of bullets and blood and bio-hazards were long gone from her head and, as Jemma wound her arms tighter around his neck to allow the waves of delight to wash over her and sweep her away, they were replaced with a single word, the only thing in the world to truly matter.

_Fitz Fitz Fitz Fitz Fitz_.

 

 

**5:28pm**

 

'When did you first know?'

They were sitting down again, their backs to the bench and their legs stretched out in front of them. It had become necessary to sit down once Fitz had almost blacked out – one moment, he had been pressing rough kisses against Jemma's neck; the next his lips were sliding down her skin as he staggered on his feet, trying to keep his balance and failing.

He had tried to insist that his foot had slipped, but Jemma had a suspicion that it had been less to do with the slippery floor of the lab and more to do with the sweltering heat and his recent blood loss.

Despite his weak protests, she had insisted that they sit down anyway.

('Sorry,' Fitz had mummbled at her from where she had made him sit with his head between his legs to allow some of the blood to return to his head.

'It's fine.'

'I'm really, really sorry.'

'Oh Fitz, for _goodness_ ' sake...')

Jemma let her head rest back against the bench, still feeling a little breathless herself. The dizzying sensation of kissing for so hard and so long had left her light-headed, as the endorphins her body had released continued fizzing in her blood, leaving her warm and happy.

What came as more of a surprise to Jemma was that she also found herself feeling oddly shy; given that she had just spent the best part of the last hour with her body pressed up against Fitz's and kissing him, it seemed a little ridiculous for her to be feeling shy around him.

But nevertheless, as she sat next to him on their lab floor, watching the heavy rise and fall of his chest (and feeling mildly smug that _she_ had caused him to be so breathless), Jemma could not help the blush that crept into her cheeks, making her feel like a schoolgirl with a crush.

'Hmm? What d'you mean?' Fitz raised his head to look at her.

'I mean, was there a moment?' Jemma asked, feeling her blush rise. 'A moment that made you decide you felt...' She struggled, unable to define what they were now. 'Like _this_?'

Fitz frowned, his eyebrows furrowing together, and scratched thoughtfully at his chin.

'I don't know, really,' he said after a while. 'It wasn't something that was ever a decision. It wasn't the kind of thing that just _happened_.'

He sighed, settling his head against the wood so he could watch her. 'It was more like lots of little things about you that just sort of built up inside me, like in a memory bank. But without me noticing. And then by the time I realised what was happening...it had already happened. A long time before that, probably.'

Jemma sucked in a breath. The words he was speaking could have been her own, they were so like how her own feelings had developed.

It had been like water, pent up behind a dam she hadn't known she was building in her mind - until it had burst.

'When did you realise?' she asked in a whisper, the moment feeling far too fragile for anything louder.

Fitz gave her a sad smile that caused a pang at the centre of Jemma's heart.

'When you were in the hospital,' he said quietly. 'After your appendicitis. I was sitting with you, waiting for you to wake up, and it just occurred to me that making sure you were safe was the most important thing in the world for me. That things were different now.'

He sighed, running his hand through his curls absently. Jemma's hands itched to do the same.

'I didn't know how I got to feeling like that,' Fitz murmured. 'I was just _there_.'

Jemma felt the familiar burn of tears at the back of her throat, along with a fresh surge of affection for him.

The thought of Fitz sitting by her hospital bed calmly accepting his newly realised feelings gave her a feeling in her gut even deeper than the ones brought on by his hot and heavy kisses.

Fitz shrugged. 'I know that probably doesn't make any sense...'

Quickly, Jemma shook her head, anxious to reassure him.

'No,' she croaked, blinking away unshed tears. 'No, it makes perfect sense.' When he looked up at her curiously, Jemma smiled and tilted her head to the side. 'Because that's exactly how it happened for me.'

Fitz's face lit up, the dejection that had been there just seconds before vanishing. 'Wait, really?'

Jemma nodded and, giving a half-laugh, half-choke, sat forward to tuck her legs underneath her, bending tentatively for his injured hand. She raised his up to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss to his palm, all the while keeping her eyes on him and hoping he could read the gratitude in her face.

By the way Fitz's eyes softened and the corners of his mouth quirked upwards ever so slightly, she could tell that he did.

'So, when was your moment?' he asked, once she had let his hand fall down into her lap. Both her own hands were there now too, and he was winding his fingers between hers, watching them as if he couldn't bear to look away. 'The hospital was mine. When was yours?'

Jemma felt her fingers tense in her lap, and she felt her heart drop into her shoes as memories of her bitter jealousy flashed to the front of her mind.

She groaned, and brought her hands up to cover her face. 'Oh no, I can't tell you _that_!'

'What?' Fitz sounded miffed. He reached up to pull her hands away from her face and she could see genuine confusion etched across his features. 'Why not?'

'Because your moment was so _beautiful_ , and mine was just so ugly in comparison!'

'Jemma, absolutely nothing about you could ever be ugly.'

Jemma remembered the sick feeling she had felt in the pit of her stomach as she had imagined another woman kissing Fitz, and the deep rooted shame she had felt for feeling that way.

She had to supress a shudder.

'This is.'

In a replica of her earlier gesture, Fitz reached out to take her hand. He very carefully kissed her knuckles, in such a manner that made Jemma grateful she had already been sitting on the floor. Had she not been, she was certain she would have melted into a very undignified puddle with her legs turned to jelly and her heart in her mouth.

'Tell me,' Fitz repeated.

Jemma swallowed hard and closed her eyes fleetingly.

'Valentine's,' she murmured. 'When you went out with Ruth and I...I felt...jealous.' The word tasted like bile in her mouth and it was all she could do not to spit it out. 'That was when I first realised it. And then you came home early and we were watching the film and that just sort of...confirmed it. But my moment...it was then, yes.' She exhaled, slowly. 'The...jealousy.'

Jemma looked up from her lap, but to her surprise, Fitz didn't look disgusted, or horrified. Instead, he looked almost delighted.

'You were jealous?' Of Ruth? For going out with _me_?'

His eyes were sparkling, and Jemma got the distinct impression that he was enjoying this.

'Yes, I was, alright?' She huffed, and swung out a hand to swat at him. 'And you don't have to be so _smug_ about it-'

'I was not-'

'Sitting there and looking at me like that-'

'Looking at you like _what_ , I'm wasn't-'

'You know, it really isn't fair-'

Abruptly, Fitz reached out to pull her closer to him, his hands guiding her waist forward until she was sitting on his lap, with her legs straddling his on either side and her hands on his shoulders.

Jemma sucked in a breath.

They had been close before.

But never _this_ close.

'I'm sorry,' she said, without being entirely sure what she was apologising for.

Fitz shook his head, their faces so close together that his nose brushed back and forth against hers as he did so. 'Please don't be.'

'It was just such an _ugly_ thing.'

'No, Jemma, it wasn't. It was _normal_. God knows, I've been jealous enough times.'

_What?_

Jemma pulled back from him and wrinkled her nose up. 'Have you?'

'Well...' Fitz's face took on a sheepish look and the base of his neck flushed pink. 'When you used to go out with people at the Academy, I used to feel...I mean, I didn't think it was jealousy _at the time_ , of course – I thought it was just that they weren't good enough for you, or I'd eaten a bad prawn, or whatever – but now I realise that I was jealous too.' He sighed at his memories before reluctantly admitting: 'Very.'

With her heart thudding in her chest, Jemma sat back on his legs and let this information sink in.

All those times she had gone out on dates at the Academy, with boys whose names she would be hard pushed to remember now, Fitz had been left behind with that same sick feeling in his gut that she had experienced and detested herself for. And now he was sitting here and telling her that it had been _normal_.

'I thought you'd hate me,' she mumbled.

Fitz reached out to tilt her chin up towards him. There was a look of such deep and practiced affection in his face that Jemma wondered how she had never seen that look before.

Maybe she had seen it.

Maybe she had just never been _looking_.

'Never.'

This time, it was her who leant forward, her hands cupped around his face, to kiss him again.

Earlier, there had been a desperation to their kisses, an urgency built up of nearly three years of waiting without knowing that they were doing so, of months spent in anxiety and apprehension, made even worse by the heat and close proximity of the lab.

Earlier, they had been on a collision course.

Now, they were fitting their pieces back together.

Jemma's lips were slower this time, but Fitz's were too, as he tilted his head back so her forehead could rest against his to make it easier to accept her kisses. Everything felt softer, and sweeter, like there was less chance that this moment could be snatched from them before they had the chance to live it.

Fitz's hands slid down from her waist to her hips, his fingers splayed out like he was trying to touch every inch of her that he could and as he did so Jemma could feel a warmth start in her stomach, as if his touch had lit a dozen tiny golden tea lights there.

As their kisses continued, still slow and careful but sweeter than anything she had ever experienced, Jemma felt that warmth spread through her body, until it felt like she was glowing from the inside out.

She wasn't sure how long they had been sitting there, fitting themselves back together again, before their lab systems came back online, with a loud humming and an ear piercing beep. They both jumped, and Jemma felt her fingers grip slightly tighter to Fitz's neck in her shock.

Fitz's limbs jerked into life, sliding her off his lap and to the side as he pushed himself into a half-standing position with one arm out in front of her. 'What the _hell_ is-'

'I think it's just the lockdown finishing,' Jemma reassured him, though she couldn't help feeling a tiny thrill at how protective he was being. To distract herself from the fluttering of butterflies spreading through her gut, she glanced down at her watch to check. 'Yes, it's six now.'

'Bloody hell, really?' Fitz squinted down at her. 'It doesn't feel like it's been that long...'

'Yes, well, I suppose we've been rather occupied for the last hour, haven't we?'

'Oh, yeah?'

Now that he had stood up properly, Fitz turned to look back down at her. Behind him the metal blinds of the windows were beginning to roll back upwards, letting the early evening sunshine shine through the lab, framing himin its hazy glow. Through it, Jemma could just about make out the starstruck grin spreading across his face.

'I suppose we were, weren't we?'

Jemma felt the corners of her mouth tug upwards and she smiled back at him. 'Just a little bit.'

Fitz chuckled and held out a hand to help pull her up. Jemma took it gratefully, allowing him to haul her to her feet. Once she was upright, he didn't let go and instead kissed her again, their mouths fitting together as easily as if they were puzzle pieces.

To Jemma, it felt like the sun had finally been let in.

'Someone will be coming soon,' she whispered when he had moved far enough away to let her speak, and even then their foreheads were still pressed together. 'To let us out.'

Fitz nodded and pulled back further from her with a small sigh, like being let out of the lab they had been trapped in for the past eight hours was an unnecessary disruption to his evening, instead of what he had been craving the whole day.

'Okay.'

Between them, their hands were still held together, Jemma's fingers slotted comfortably between Fitz's.

'So, what...what happens now?'

Jemma looked up in surprise. Fitz blinked at her, and she realised that this was a genuine question. When it came to what happened next, he was following her lead.

The question was, what did she want?

'We,' Jemma said slowly. 'Are going to leave as soon as we are able to to go meet our supervising officers and be debriefed. We will also have to act like we were not just profusely making out in our S.H.I.E.L.D regulatory lab for the past hour or so.'

Fitz nodded solemnly, though Jemma was sure she could see the cracks of a smile shining through.

'And, um...and after that?'

Jemma glanced down at their hands again.

Just that morning, she had found it hard to look at him without seeing dangers at every turn, been unable to look at his hands without imagining them stained with blood.

But this afternoon, they had been. And she had cleaned them up and bandaged them, and then those same hands had held her carefully and lovingly, and yet still with a strength that had told her he would never let her go.

Gently, Jemma gave Fitz's hand a delicate squeeze and she smiled up at him.

She had nothing to be afraid of anymore.

'Whatever we want, I suppose.'

 


End file.
